


your thorns in your crown

by Vileplume



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 1st POV, Drowning, Gen, but if ur uncomfortable with murder than congrats on getting this far dude, i guess if you count the ravenstag as hannibal then yes he shows up but, if no ones writing the ravenstag fics u want then u gotta write them YOURSELF, is it ok to say swiggity swag the nightmare stag in 2018, kinda a dream sequence fic but that KINDA is the Point, takes place vaguely in season 1, testing a writing style, will graham mcfucking dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vileplume/pseuds/Vileplume
Summary: He trods his way out of the forest, and he gracefully steps into the stream. Water rushes past his legs, and he pushes his way through to the other side. Water droplets cling to the plastic dried-blood texture of his feathers.The ravenstag meanders his way onto the scene - he slips through the water fully and across the ground and grass of the riverbank. I can't take my eyes off of him.





	your thorns in your crown

**Author's Note:**

> title is from You Come Down by Marika Hackman
> 
>  
> 
> _You come down with your thorns in your crown_  
>  _Tearing the flesh from your skull_  
>  _And the trick of the brain is the trickle in vein_  
>  _As it drips from your ears and your nostril_  
>  _But you could always make the lakes fill up_

I've wanted to do this for a very long time, and I'm shaking.

I can see it through the trees as I make my way towards the stream that it's standing by. It's bowed, over the water, and the sunlight through the trees paints everything peacefully and prettily. The water sparkles, the rocks glisten, and its hair shines with dappled light. My heart beats, and I come up behind it as it looks out to the calm and flowing water.

It turns, and it smiles. I smile. Its smile falls, and I wrap my hands around its neck. It struggles, and we tip over into the stream. The fall is jarring - water splashes in my eyes, and I blink against the sting and surprise. With both of my hands occupied with forcing its head underwater, I can't wipe my eyes, but neither can I look away either through my half-shut eyelids from its drowning face. Its eyes wince and flutter, terrified. Beautiful. Its hair floats upwards in the stream, and bubbles escape its lips. The ripples cover it in colors and shadows. Beautiful. Its feet kick, displacing rocks and dirt - I hold its head underwater until it's still. The stream water never stops moving around my hands and it's still body, and I stumble to my feet, water dripping off of my hands. I wipe off the water from my eyes, but my hands are so wet so that doesn't help, so I stumble backwards onto the stream's bank to look at what I've done. 

I open my eyes. 

The body is laying prone on the stream bank, almost completely submerged. Middle aged-woman, single, plain features. Bits of waterproof makeup still left on her face from the last time she applied them stand out strikingly against her corpse-colored skin. A part of me notes that her makeup looks better in death than it probably ever did in life. Officers and agents swarm around the scene, doing their jobs - I rock back on my heels and catch Jack Crawford's eye.

"First time killer," I answer. "Someone who's wanted to do this for a very long time, to her specifically." What else can I explain? "It wasn't a fast death. This person knew her specifically, she was happy to see them, until she... _wasn't_ anymore." Jack nods, and doesn't thank me. I turn back to the stream. 

I can still feel the killer's mind in my own; through their eyes I can see the light through the trees and the glitter of the stream. They loved it out here, but never spent time out here. They lived in the city, probably. I ought to tell Jack this, a part of me notes. The culprit, that part of me, and I soak up the sunlight together. No one has passed the stream to the other side, save for the initial check for footprints and evidence when the investigation had first begun. They found nothing, and so across the stream the bank was calm and serene and undisturbed. Standing alone and lost in thought as I am, I turn around, surveying the tree line - the officers swarming about, disrupting things, but no more than any animal would do in the outdoors - and I catch something out of the corner of my eye, coming out from the other side and onto the undisturbed riverbank.

He trods his way out of the forest, and he gracefully steps into the stream. Water rushes past his legs, and he pushes his way through to the other side. Water droplets cling to the plastic dried-blood texture of his feathers. A hallucination...

The ravenstag meanders his way onto the scene - he slips through the water fully and across the ground and grass of the riverbank. I can't take my eyes off of him. With a numb and distant chilled feeling, I realize - neither can anyone else.

Chatter breaks out as someone points out the stag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see heads turn. I hear chatter stutter to a stop - Someone gasps. Someone cries out in surprise. Everyone always has something to say until they realize exactly what kind of creature they're seeing, but no one seems to know what to do. The normal rules don't apply in the face of something that is so clearly abnormal.

The tall stag (black as the way a part of me has always figured blood looked like in the moonlight) - textureless, and almost colorless, but neither of those things, somehow - stood, defiantly real and otherworldly. It stood still and watchful, and the crowd buzzed in the background - a corpse in a stream.

No one knows what to make of the creature (but I do). The ravenstag isn't any kind of creature anyone here has probably seen before (but I have). No one can make sense of the feathers and antlers (but I can). What is it? they ask. A part of me suggests that I speak up and calm the crowd's palpable anxiety, but I'm not a part of the crowd. I feel distant, and asleep. I don't move.

Jack calls for everyone to get back from the wild animal. There's a panic - someone needs to shoo it away, someone in the crowd shouts. It might contaminate the crime scene, someone else replies. No one wants to make a move, in the face of something they don't understand, and don't know to fear yet. The ravenstag watches the panicked officials with an unreadable gaze, and slowly turns his head to me in an unnaturally smooth motion, like a lighthouse. I feel his gaze, and it's more real to me than anything else.

I get down on one knee.

Someone might be calling my name, calling me to back up, but I don't move. I kneel in front of the feathered, horned thing, and I resist the urge to reach out to him. I can't do something like that, not now. In my heart, I know that I'm not ready, and I know that no one watching is ready either. I'm not afraid, and they don't _understand._

The ravenstag stares at me, hooves on rock, feathers blowing in the wind, water on feathers, and slowly comes closer to me. He shivers and lowers his head to point his antlers in me in a faux-bow. I lower my head as well, and I can no longer hold his gaze. 

With gentle violence, the ravenstag runs me through with his antlers, and I feel no pain. I feel held, and as quiet as the stag, as still as the corpse, as the agents and officers and their calls flow around us like water. Someone might be calling my name. The stag steps backward, and his antlers slip out of me as I slip to the side.

I slip into the stream, and the rush of water feels shocking, awful. I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready - in the stream, I wince, my eyes flutter, struggling to see through the water bubbles that rise up around me and the sting of the water that surrounds me, my head, my eyes - I thrash upwards, and kick, and my feet displace my covers on my bed as I physically throw myself out of the nightmare, covered in sweat and what could almost be stream water. I'm shaking. I can't remember getting home. 

Awake, emotions can touch me. I'm gasping, shaking - my hands are tied to the mattress, and I feel awfully aware and awake. I unclench my fists and wipe the sweat out of my eyes - my palms are just as wet, so it doesn't help. My clock says 1:09 AM. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed to get a towel, my ankles nudge something soft and alive - I reach down to pet whichever dog had woken, blinking in the darkness. I nudge him off, and the sounds of dog feet patter away to join the other dog noises that are happening. _Sorry, guys, for waking you up._ I stand up and make my way over to the linen closet. The floor, and the towel that I grab, are cool and dry, and my footsteps are quiet and solid. I walk back to my bed, lay the towel on the mattress, and lie down with a rustling sound. I stare up at the dark ceiling and listen in the silence. I don't hear noises other than from my dogs for a long, long while.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more, because I have a few ideas, but for now, [gestures vaguely]
> 
> thank you very much for paying attention to me ♥


End file.
